A Collective of Doomed Moments
by Clawed Galaxy Dragon
Summary: Oneshots featuring the main IZ characters (Zim, Dib, Gaz, Gir, ect.) Topics range from agonizing math homework to terrifying trips to the local pool, each one likely focusing on a specific genre (humor, adventure, action, possibly romance.) First up: "Dib filth? Why do you have Jupiter drawn on you?" "Its called a tattoo, Zim. Jeez." "...Can I erase it?" "No, moron!"
1. Ink

Zim watched Dib's face contort into a wince of pain for a moment before settling back into the slightly strained look it adopted whenever he did this. The chilly room the Irken and human resided in was a sharp mix of sterile alcohol, leather from the chairs, and cigarette smoke from one of the employees- a combination Zim had initially abhorred before adjusting to it and learning to ignore the scent. The incessant jarring buzz of the machine was a usual and expected thing by now, simultaneously nerve-grating and tempting.

Zim doubted he'd ever do it himself, but he freely admitted he never tired of watching his once hated rival sit willingly through hours of pain.

What an odd ritual tattooing was.

"Does it hurt yet, Dib beast?"

A honey colored eye cracked open and glowered up at the smug voice overhead, seeming brighter and more dimensional without the usual layer of glass it hid behind.

The response was tight with suppressed discomfort. "Of course not, Zim. What would ever give you that impression?"

This was the sadistic game they played whenever Dib went to the parlor on Aves Avenue and Zim tagged along (which was almost every time.) Both would coerce the other into either admitting pain or giving up, respectively, and the one to break first was also the one who paid tip to the pizza delivery man.

And Zim did _not_ feel like paying tip tonight. Not after Gir had used a large chunk of the fake money he printed regularly to get into a "Loded Potatows" concert on the 17th.

Dib let out a long, slow breath, careful not to move too much as he buried his face in his balled up trench coat serving as a makeshift pillow.

Zim watched with almost sadistic pleasure as the tattoo artist's - Jerry, was the man's name? Jimmy? The alien could never remember - gun made its way painstakingly slow across Dib's jaunty shoulderblade. Hmm, right over the bone; that had to hurt.

And so, Zim immediately seized the opportunity. "And how does _that_ feel, Dib monster?"

Dib relaxed once the man picked the gun up momentarily to dip it back in the dark blue ink he was using.

"Totally fine, Zim." Dib said with a proud smile despite the twinge his face betrayed when the artist resumed his work.

"Hm. We shall see." Zim muttered, tapping two of his fingers across his chin while he watched Dib's tattoo progress with interest.

Unlike some of the other nonsensical things the Dib meat ranted about, Zim had actually chosen to pay attention when the human spoke of this new tattoo he was getting. All it took was the mention of the word "mother" to grab the Irken's attention. Dib had seldom spoken of his late mother, the topic seeming to be a touchy one at best and depressing one at worst. The human had garbled aimlessly about the tattoo in incomplete snippets of thought, as though speaking to himself rather than to Zim, but the alien had deduced this much:

The tattoo was of a bird (a sparrow or jay or some such thing) because Dib's mother had loved birds, it was a deep blue because she had always liked the color blue, and it was to be flying against a canvas of stars due to his mother's love of space.

A trait her large-headed progeny had clearly inherited. Dib's other various tattoos were small and inconspicuous enough (save a large Loch Ness monster that actually looked far better than Zim had anticipated it would) ranging to a few well-done planets. This bird was smaller than the sea creature and larger than the planets, but even though it was the size of a palm and would only take an hour and a half or so to complete, even the Irken wasn't so dense as to miss the meaning behind it. Despite not having parents, Zim _did_ understand and empathize somewhat with Dib's lack of mother unit and lack of father unit in all but death.

The young adult's unexpected voice broke Zim's ruminating thoughts. "You know Zim, getting a tattoo really isn't as painful as it looks. Haven't you even considered it?" Dib asked slowly, careful not to breathe out too much and bump Jerry-or-Jimmy's work.

Zim squinted at the man's nametag- so it _was_ Jerry- before answering. "Zim has given it minute consideration, but feels as though there is nothing he wishes to have permanently placed onto his already perfect body."

Dib rolled his eyes at the typical statement, seeming more relaxed as Jerry worked on the outline over the flat muscled part of his shoulderblade rather than the point of it. "You'd probably have some weird alien reaction to the ink anyway." Dib muttered, giving his old enemy a once-over.

Zim propped his head in his hand lazily, leaning his elbow on his knee as he slumped in the chair nonchalantly. "I have no clue what you're talking about, Dib filth. I simply have no wish to be "inked", as you call it."

The latex of Jerry's glove stretching a part of his skin taut had Dib fighting off the natural urge to tense as the humming of the machine started up again after a merciful intermission. Though he'd never let the alien know, half the time with their little game Dib admitted pain to allow Zim to win simply so the Irken wasn't stuck paying tip time after time. In reality, even the worst parts of his tattoos hadn't been bad enough to make him cry out. The pain became a tolerable thing almost immediately, the body adapting to the expectation of pain and naturally making the overall experience less intense.

Zim returned the favor and broke in on Dib's thoughts this time. "I think it _is_ as painful as it looks, Dib, if your face is anything to go by." He commented sarcastically as Dib only halfway succeeded in hiding a grimace.

"It's really not." Dib retorted, enjoying the irritated look on Zim's face at his refusal to crack. Maybe he'd let out a short "ow" of pain at some point just so the megalomaniacal Irken's poor pride wouldn't be wounded. "You just have to focus on something else- I doubt you've noticed, but I hold onto the metal bar beneath the chair here and focus on gripping it rather than doing nothing."

Zim's contacted lavender eyes drifted down to Dib's hand which was indeed wrapped around the aforementioned bar. Idly observing the human hand's muscular structure as tendons stood out when Jerry went over a particularly sensitive spot and Dib squeezed the metal in reaction, Zim reflected on the time he'd seen Dib's first tattoo.

It had been an accident really, just a simple removal of a sweatshirt while playing Zombie Squid Apocalypse II that had Dib's tank top riding up with the clothing as he tugged it over his ginormous head.

Zim had practically pounced on Dib at seeing the well-inked likeness to Jupiter just below the human's ribcage on his side, more towards the back. How long had that been there? When had he gotten it done? Where? Why? How? What the hell _was_ it, anyway?

"_Human? Why have you drawn a picture of Jupiter on yourself?"_ Zim had asked blankly, getting Dib's attention by holding the hem of the tank top just above the tattoo. Respecting Dib's personal space but still nosy enough to impose to the point of keeping the oddity in view by touching his shirt, Zim leaned a little closer and peered at it.

The Dib was no artist. Surely he couldn't have done that?

"_It's a tattoo. I didn't put it there, someone else did."_ Dib had answered boredly as though planets appearing on his torso were an everyday occurrence.

"_Why would someone want to draw a planet on your body?"_ Zim's nonexistent brow furrowed. _"I was under the impression that when humans chose to draw things upon their companions, they were usually inappropriate things meant for temporary entertainment like peni-"_

"_NO!"_ Dib had immediately interrupted, hotly snatching the bit of shirt Zim was loosely holding away from the Irken. Humoring his nemesis-turned friend, however, Dib kept the tank top pulled up enough so Zim could continue to observe the work. _"Haven't you ever seen humans walking around with pictures and stuff all over their bodies?"_

Zim nodded, extending a hand as if to touch the inked skin curiously, but thought better of it and retracted his claws. _"Of course. You mean to say what you have is the same thing?"_

Dib rolled his eyes. _"Duh. You don't __**have**__ to get _giant_ tattoos, you know. They can be any size."_

Zim blinked, making a noncommittal _"Hm."_ Finally overcoming his dislike of touching humans after a short internal battle, Zim let his interest get the better of him enough to give the tattoo a quick touch with the tip of a sharp finger (carefully curved outward to avoid slicing Dib's art up.) The skin felt no different from the surrounding unaltered flesh, which led the alien to assume Dib must have had the piece for at least a month. _"I'm insulted you never thought to inform me of this addition, Dib stink. How very un-friendly-like of you."_

Dib again rolled his eyes, letting the shirt fall back down into place as he picked up his controller. _"I just didn't think you'd give two shits is all."_

Zim hummed another ambivalent _"Hmm"_, grabbing his own controller. _"Fair enough. But if you decide to get another, I wish to accompany you."_

Dib hid his exasperated smirk as he unpaused the game. How typical it was of Zim to disguise a request in the callous form of an order.

Very well. He supposed bringing Zim _once_ wouldn't hurt… he had been looking at getting Saturn done next anyway…

The two returned to the present, Dib because of an extra-painful stretch of outline and Zim because of a victory.

"Ha _HA_! You hissed in pathetic pain- Zim heard you!"

Dib turned his head to face the direction opposite Zim to hide his smirk. "Yeah, yeah. I pay tip, I know."

Zim leaned back in the chair triumphantly, placing his arms behind his head. Victory for Zim!

An hour later, Dib heaved himself off the chair with that un-sticking noise humans made when peeling their bare skin off leather. He was always stiff after sitting still for long tattooing sessions, and today was no exception. Zim, slouched in his chair in the corner (having gone into hibernation mode to pass the time), blinked open an eye at the noise and stood.

Dib's new tattoo had come out quite nicely. The artist had refrained from making it feminine in the least, but it still had an elegance and sense of meaning to it that Zim grudgingly admired. Too bad he wouldn't get to mock Dib for having a girly bird on his shoulder- that had been his original plan all along.

Dib rolled his shoulders slowly, loosening up the muscles as he craned his head around too see the work in the full-length mirror in the back room. A nostalgic smile spread across his face and Dib nodded, immensely pleased.

Mom would have loved it.

"Thanks a lot, Jerry. It looks great." Dib thanked the artist enthusiastically, eagerly shoving the man's cut into his hand after shaking it.

"Heh, no problem kid. I'm glad you like it." Jerry responded with a smile of his own, pocketing the money and spinning Dib around with his other hand. Taping a folded clean paper towel over the tattoo, Jerry launched into the usual "take this off after an hour or so, wash the tattoo with cool water, apply nonscented lotion to keep the skin moisturized, ect." speech he gave Dib every time despite the boy being a repeat customer. Safety first, Dib supposed; fresh tattoos _were_ open wounds, after all.

Waving goodbye to Jerry as the man turned to clean and store his equipment, Dib slung his shirt and jacket over his forearm before exiting the shop. The click of Zim's boots proved the Irken was right behind him, and Dib dug out his car keys from the depths of his pocket.

Immediately they left his hand, and before he could blink Zim was already at the driver's side door opening it and stepping inside the car. Dib steeled himself and got in the passenger side without argument, debating whether he should be grateful to Zim for wordlessly offering to drive them home (thus allowing Dib as a passenger to lean forward and keep the seat from pressing against his new tattoo) or scared that _Zim_ was driving them home.

The engine rumbled to life as Zim twisted the keys, and Dib triple checked his seatbelt before the silver Toyota Corolla peeled out of the lot and shot across two lanes of traffic onto the highway.

Dib removed his clenched hands from the upholstery, not missing Zim's evil grin at the maneuver only an alien with reflexes like his could have judged and safely pulled off.

"Zim… you're an _asshole_."

The Irken snickered, missing a red light by a few seconds as he gunned the engine impatiently.

"I know, Dib. I know."


	2. Crash

A little Zadf. Enjoy~

* * *

"_Traffic on Sandsbury Drive is moving at a crawl due to a crash…"_

"Gir! Turn that racket off; I'm trying to fuse a laser gun to this squid creature!"

The voice floated irately out from a trashcan in the kitchen, but Gir paid it no mind. Why was Big Head being carried on that white thing? Why were the humans putting him in that flashy vehicle? Was that tall scratched up human with him Big Head's father? Why was there a smoking wreckage of a flipped vehicle in the opposite lane?

"But mastah, Big Head's on tv!"

Grumbling, Zim pulled himself out of the trash can and marched over to his occupied servant.

"I don't care if Dib is on the television! The television only ever plays moronic, stupid, disgusting human things anyways. I never imagined Dib would stoop low enough to go on a talk sho-"

Immediately Zim silenced himself, eyes widening as he absorbed the pictures flashing on the tv set. Dib on a stretcher, a wreckage of a car, those annoying whiny human vehicles- ambulances, he amended- a hovering upset man in a lab coat…

Zim almost felt sick to his squeedilyspooch as things clicked into place instantly, the pieces falling together with sickening clarity. Dib, in a car accident.

But… but, his rival was invincible! Unstoppable! Relentless! Something as minor as an automotive accident wouldn't slow the Dib he knew down.

…And yet, as the ambulance blared obnoxiously away and the report cut to the rescue of a morbidly obese fat man who had gotten stuck in his doorframe, Zim swallowed a lump in his throat. Believe it or not, Dib had seemed considerably slowed down.

Gir remained silent, watching his master with wide teal eyes. Despite his faulty functioning, even _he_ could deduce something bad had happened to Mary.

"Mastah? That was Mary." Gir pointed out quietly, for once not seeming ridiculously manic or insane as he struggled to focus on the heavy situation without letting the squeaky moose he remembered was in his head distract him.

"Yes… yes it was." Zim slowly responded, flashing ruby eyes still glued to the tv set but not truly watching it.

Shouldn't he be smug? Happy? Rejoicing? His rival had been in a car accident, after all- shouldn't Zim be pleased by this turn of events?

A cold stone of dread nestled in his organs proved otherwise. Ever since the Tallests had exiled him (in a painfully blunt manner as Zim, at the time, had been blissfully oblivious of his ostracized status up until they stuck it to him quite forcibly) the Irken had only ever made half-hearted attempts to take over the Earth. And in response, as if he silently understood without Zim ever having told him, Dib limited his attempts of stopping Zim to only when they were needed.

Beyond the occasional take over and save the world instances, the two bickered every chance they got. Insult slinging in the Hi-skool courtyard in the mornings quickly became ritual, and paper balls chucked at each other's heads with offensive messages scrawled on them was commonplace for the two during class.

In a sad, pathetic sort of way, those little routines were all the ex-Invader had left. And if Dib was gone… what else was there?

Gir?

Eugh. As much as Zim had grudgingly come to like the defective little robot, Gir wasn't really one for conversation, or fighting, or debating with, or… well, anything besides pigs and tacos, really.

Zim made up his mind without sparing more than a minute for internal conflict. "Gir, watch the house. I'm going… out."

Gir flashed red and saluted, attention swiftly being captured by the angry monkey premiere coming on.

But as Zim donned his wig and contacts and ducked out the front door, an idyllically innocent voice trilled after him "Tell Mary I say hi!"

The door clicked shut and Zim's hand remained on the knob for a moment. Perhaps he didn't give Gir enough credit- the android could be unusually perceptive when he so chose.

Shaking his head and walking down the streets, Zim shoved his hands into the pockets of the red jacket he wore. It was October and a chill was in the air, and Zim detested the bitter cold. Luckily enough, today was still mild enough for the nip in the air to be more refreshing than annoying.

Logically, Dib would have been taken to the nearest hospital- which, coincidentally, happened to be 8 blocks away. Zim had always morbidly assumed in the past that the hospital's relatively close location was a sort of convenient omen; should he ever blow Dib up _too_ terribly, he could always deposit his rival there and be on his merry way.

Because what fun was taking over the Earth without Dib?

…What fun was existing on Earth without Dib?

…It… it would be so _boring_.

Burying himself in his thoughts to occupy the time as his Pak tracked his location and the hospital's location, Zim pulled the jacket around his thin frame tighter. He'd grown a few meager feet compared to Dib's now beanpole-tall physique, but he predictably hadn't filled out much. Sure he kept himself fit, as any respectable Irken would, but his muscle structure would always be lean and wiry. (Of course, so was Dib's, but how _dare_ that insufferable human slime grow taller than Zim!)

Barely registering he'd arrived at the complex, Zim inhaled a last spooch-full of crisp October air before entering through the sliding glass doors to the sterile-smelling lobby.

Oh Irk, the _**germs**_. The one thing Zim had completely overlooked in his- ugh, his _worrying_- over the Dib.

Skirting around a coughing woman with a drooly baby and a hobo who seemed content to pick food out of his beard and snack on it, Zim rapped his claws impatiently on the ledge in front of the reception window as he waited for one of the stupid office drones to notice his amazing presence.

Aaaaany second now…

Any second…

…

…Oh come on, nobody could possibly remain ignorant of Zim's almighty being for _this_ long!

Growling and clearing his throat loudly, Zim stared flatly at a bored-looking office lady with brown hair in a lazy bun who glanced up at him uninterestedly.

"Name, reason for coming." She prompted in a tone that suggested she repeated this phrase multiple times a day, and Zim narrowed his eyes before replying.

"Zim. Patient visit." He stated in a clipped voice, becoming agitated at the woman's slowness.

"Last name?"

"Uhhh…." Zim looked around hastily for inspiration, eyes landing on the hobo.

"Foobeard." He eked out, realizing how idiotic the improvised name was only after he'd said it.

The office lady, however, didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the name and jotted it down, pen still poised in the air as she looked back up at the Irken.

"Visitee's name?"

"Dib. Dib Membrane." Zim mumbled, claws picking up their nervous clicking again as the woman's pen moved so slowly it seemed to be in reverse.

"Ah, the Membrane boy." The office drone seemed slightly animated for the first time that day, winding a stray curl of hair around her finger. "He's scheduled for surgery right now, but there's a visitor's waiting room down the hall if you want to stick around until he's out. He'll be in room 106 whenever he's done being patched up."

Zim nodded and turned to walk off, but paused with his foot still a few inches off the ground and cut a glance back at the office lady. "What exactly is his condition?" he asked, nonexistent eyebrows knitting together.

The lady smiled sweetly but apologetically. "Oh, I can't discuss that. Patient confidentiality and all that. But he's not in danger of dying, so you can ask him yourself when he wakes up." The secretary breezily answered, effectively ending the conversation by answering a telephone and sounding almost as monotonous as an actual pre-recorded message.

Zim sniffed indignantly at the human, but proceeded down the hallway and into the visitor's waiting room. Aside from a man in a white lab coat in a chair in the corner, the room was virtually empty. Grateful for this, Zim sank into a chair at the opposite end of the room and got comfortable, preparing for the hour or so long wait.

Hm… wait a minute, that hair seemed familiar…wasn't that…?

"You… you're Dib's little foreign friend, aren't you?" Professor Membrane asked in slight surprise, posture straightening a bit as he addressed the alien from across the room.

"Eh, yes. I suppose." Zim hedged around the question uncertainly. He wasn't Dib's friend, per se, but he guessed he did qualify as "foreign." Heh. Well, _very_ foreign, anyway.

Membrane continued on, oblivious to Zim's secret amusement. "My son will be out of the operating room in half an hour. All they need to do is put a few pins in a broken arm and pick out some glass shards- thank physics he's alright aside from minor injuries."

Zim tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. A broken arm and stabby glass shards didn't sound major, but they certainly weren't minor either. Did the Dib-father-unit truly grasp the situation at all?

Zim tuned back in to Membrane's ramblings in time to catch the professor's parting words.

"…unstable back at the lab. And now that you're here, I don't need to stay to keep him company. Do tell him I apologize for having to leave, but science calls!"

With this professor Membrane swept out of the waiting room cheerily, mood seeming much improved now that he had both an excuse to leave and a body to take his place.

Zim half frowned at the abrupt exit, but a recall of bits of information about Dib's past and home life he'd gleaned over the years jigsawed themselves together into a rough justification for the professor's actions.

Dib's mother had died in a hospital. That alone was reason enough to not want to be in a place associated with bad memories, but Zim also knew the professor really was just that devoted to his work- Dib had once bitterly referred to the Membrane Labs as "Dad's real home, though he'd never admit it."

Humming anxiously, Zim acknowledged the fact that Dib would be triply unhappy when he awoke. One, because his father had run out on him after a car accident. Two, because his nemesis of all people had taken his place. And three… well, he'd been in an automobile wreck. He'd probably be feeling like shit.

The minutes ticked by, and the Irken had soon been reduced to such a degree of boredom that he'd snatched a magazine off the lacquered wood table beside the chairs and was flipping through it.

Ugh! What was wrong with that human's face!? And ew! Why was a barely censored lady showering with "mango-hazelnut-orange-cornmeal" scented shampoo in the centerfold!?

Magazines were repulsive, if only for the fact they had humans in them. Pulling his upper lip back in disgust as he flipped past a sweaty football player endorsing some sort of foot cream, Zim at last found an article worthy of occupying his time. _"Scientists explore ways to deliver new targeted drugs to patients using hijacked cells."_ Seemed entertaining enough.

Snorting, the alien skimmed the article. Foolish stink beasts; Irkens had moved beyond such primitive cell engineering techniques millennia ago. Human medicine- and everything else, for that matter- was still in an infantile state of creation. It was good Dib was as undamaged as he'd heard thus far- Zim would hate to be reduced to dragging his enemy down into his base to have his computer run more advanced medical repairs on him that the hospital drones were unable to do.

Having tossed the magazine back on the table in favor of sliding down in the chair and staring at the water stained ceiling, a wheeling noise from down the hall caught the attention of his covered antennae. If his understanding of the layout of the bottom floor of the hospital was correct from what he'd been hearing doctors say as they entered and exited the OR, that had been the double doors of the surgery room swinging open and a gurney rolling out. Zim straightened in the padded seat and tilted his head, tempted to rip the stupid wig off to allow for better hearing but resisting the urge despite being alone. Hospitals were crowded- anybody could waltz by at any given moment.

The rolling progressively grew closer to his location, and just as expected made a left into a room a few yards down from the waiting area. That had to have been room 106, which meant Dib was out of the OR now.

Standing and peeking round the corner, Zim stealthily watched as a doctor with a tired expression left the room and a bubbly nurse with a clipboard followed soon after. The hallway was completely empty as the two rounded a corner, and now was the Irken's chance. He could slip in without being hassled and asked for identification or being told no, and that seemed a much more desirable choice to dealing with any hospital personnel.

Sauntering down the hall silently, Zim gave a final cursory glance up and down the white brightly lit passage before slipping inside room 106.

The first few things that hit him were the smells. Blood, that much was certain. Antiseptics- shitloads of antiseptics- and a fabric-y smell of linens and gauze. The off-green room was dimmed to allow Dib to rest peacefully without the glaring lights of the rest of the building, but Zim could see perfectly as he took the few steps that carried him past the irritating curtain thing that partitioned half the room off. A heart monitor beeped quietly at a moderate pace, the only thing breaking the silence other than Dib's barely audible breathing.

Dib _did_ look like shit. That signature scythe lock of hair was unkempt and messily flopped to the side a little, and a few scrapes on his face that were too small to warrant gauze were tidily wiped up and shined with a thin sheen of whatever medical goop the nurses had smeared across the open wounds. Neosporin? Iodine? Zim couldn't remember, nor did he care. They were primitive substances regardless of what they were.

One of Dib's arms was pinned to his side like a bird's broken wing, and Zim winced at the slightly red bandages at certain points. Supposing they hadn't casted the break yet so changing bandages would be possible, Zim wandered closer. Were those tubes sticking into the crook of the human's arm and the back of his hand?

Yuck. Barbaric. Any fluids needing to be introduced to an Irken's system for operation were simply administered through an opening for a tube attachment in the Pak. No need for pointy needles and the like.

Dib was in one of those ridiculous standard-issue hospital gowns, and the Irken had a feeling the human would be demanding his usual attire and trench coat back (which were cleaned and folded on the table next to the bed) the instant he awoke.

Zim had never seen Dib look so… broken-y. Granted, Dib didn't look like he was on death's door or anything, but he was still scuffed up and pale. And still. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was the only movement he made, and Zim realized he'd probably never seen Dib this still in all the years he'd known him.

Dib should be waving his arms emphatically and yelling about there being an alien in his room, not lying there inanimately. He should have that determined look in his eyes and set to his jaw whenever he looked at Zim, promising the alien a tooth-and-nail fight for the planet should he ever try one of his less frequent attempts at takeover of destruction. Or, in the very least, he should have that "I tolerate you" expression he plastered across his face whenever the two of them chose to interact civilly (for the most part.)

"What are you doing here, Zim?"

The flat scratchy voice caused Zim to jerk his gaze from observing the layer of gauze on Dib's other forearm up to the honey colored eyes that were squinting… at his forehead?

Ah, right. Dib's vision was mediocre at best, even with his ocular enhancer things. Without them he was rendered a blind, lost, defenseless sack of meat.

"You are aware of your location?" Zim asked with a hint of surprise, boots clicking against the cold linoleum floor as he clasped his hands behind his back and stood at Dib's side. Weren't humans usually loopy and confused after surgery?

"I got into a car accident, Zim. I didn't have brain surgery. I'm in a hospital." Dib's barely disguised "duh" tone of voice had Zim huffing in annoyance. Of course the human would wake up and immediately employ sarcasm to the one person he had to talk to, old enemy or not.

"I feel a little funny from whatever painkillers I'm sure they put me on, but I can still think… a little clearly." Dib conceded, struggling with the sentence structure minutely as he creased his forehead in concentration.

Zim made a noncommittal noise, looking around the room disinterestedly. So he had accomplished his mission of evaluating and visiting the Dib post-accident. Now what?

Dib shared the sentiment, squinting up at the alien in frustration. "Where are my… you know, things?" Dib made a vague motion to his eyes (which were still looking in the general area of the middle of Zim's face rather than his false lavender contacts) to substitute a word he couldn't think of.

"Your glasses, noodle-brained beast?" Zim jabbed tauntingly, swiping the pair off the table with a scrape. Holding them out on the tip of a clawed finger, Zim grinned as Dib's depth perception failed him and the human grasped at the empty air a few inches in front of the glasses. Humoring him and extending the glasses out farther for Dib to finally grab, Zim watched the teen tilt his head and slide the glasses over his nose at an angle with minimal clumsiness from his less dominant hand. Apparently this wasn't the first time Dib had had to hurriedly jam his glasses on his face with only one free hand.

Blinking, Dib's gaze immediately appeared more alert when his amber eyes focused on Zim's fake purple ones. His halting speech proved the effects of the painkillers were still coursing through his system though as he frowned and looked around the room expectantly. "Where's dad? He was in the car when that white SUV cut us off and forced us into the opposite lane…" Dib struggled to remember the details of the crash; fragments of smoke and debris and a stomach-churning roll coupled with the honking of traffic and screeching of tires and metal on asphalt flitted through his sluggish mind as he stared at Zim like one would a curious color of mold growing on a cheese wedge they were about to eat.

Zim held back a chuckle at Dib's blank spacey expression. The human was most amusing when slightly drugged. "Your parental unit is fine. He…" Zim broke eye contact with Dib for a moment, knowing the second half of the explanation would bother him. "He went to his lab to check on something."

Dib reacted as expected, with nothing more than a slow blink and slightly crestfallen look as he sunk down into the pillows more. "And I suppose he bailed because you showed up to take his place?" He grumbled, free hand messing with the edges of his sheets idly.

Zim nodded mutely, growing tired of standing and dragging a chair over to the bedside. Plunking down in it, the alien leveled an unidentifiable look at Dib.

The two held gazes for a few seconds before Dib couldn't stand it any longer. "Why did you come? Shouldn't you be partying or something?"

Zim pushed his lower lip out unhappily, insulted at the insinuation but acknowledging the grain of truth in it. "I should be." He responded shortly, looking at his boots for a second. He really should have been. Gir would have happily baked a cake and everything if asked- so why wasn't he?

"I suppose…" he began, tapping a gloved claw against the side of his face contemplatively, "I felt as though celebrating something as untimely as your death or serious wounding would have been… eh… inappropriate."

Dib nodded slowly, understanding. As often as he poked fun at the alien concerning dissections or discovery, if Zim were to actually be strapped to a table about to be sliced open he knew he'd feel twisted and awful.

The Irken didn't need to know that, however. "Can you turn around or something? I want to get out of this stupid dress thing."

Zim raised a hairless eyebrow as his theory proved correct, but stood and spun around and paced to the window of the room to watch the insignificant human life outside while Dib changed into something more pride-conserving. He heard shuffling from behind, and almost turned around at a stumble and curse. A smacking noise indicated Dib had grabbed the rail of the bed to prevent a fall and was using it to find his balance, and an aggravated grunt proved he hadn't thought of how to get dressed with tubes stuck all in him.

A ripping noise of tape that held the IV's in was the next sound, and Zim's smirk was hidden in the faint reflection of the windowpane as he heard the teen hiss "ouch" as he tugged needles out and continued to listen to Dib fight with the medical paraphernalia that restrained him. At last a flumping of fabric on the floor sounded, and seconds after the hasty zipping and buttoning of pants and rustling of a coat followed.

"Ok. I'm good."

Zim turned back around found himself battling back laughter again. Clearly having realized that moving his damaged sling arm was both painful and stupid, Dib had stuck his good arm through one of the sleeves and clasped his trench coat at his neck, allowing the other side to limply drape over his arm and bare torso.

"You look like Dracula had a wardrobe malfunction." Zim commented slyly, amused as Dib's cheeks reddened in a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"I can't put my shirt on, okay? This is the best I can do, unless you'd prefer me to blind you with my whiteness." Dib threatened, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. He hid the wave of tiredness that swept over him well, but Zim still caught the smothered yawn and drooping eyes.

"Zim will fetch the hideous nurse unit to check up on you and then take his leave." The Irken notified Dib quietly as the human jerked himself upright for the fifth time after slumping a little.

Instantly Dib's face fell, and the look of uncertainty he cast around the unfamiliar room didn't escape the alien.

But Zim waited at the door and looked over his shoulder into Dib's conflicted gold eyes. Would Dib be the first to ask? Would the human finally overcome their old rivalries enough to request Zim's repeated presence?

Dib fidgeted with his fingers tensely. "Will… will you show up again tomorrow? I'm sure they're gonna keep me here at least another day. And, you know, it'll be pretty boring alone."

Zim turned his face forward again to hide the genuine smile he refused to allow his old enemy to see. "If the Dib wishes it to be so." He answered enigmatically, raising a gloved hand to wave three thin fingers at Dib before stepping out of the room. Heading towards a nurse a few doors down, Zim didn't bother to keep the smirk off his face as he picked up Dib's indignant and sleepy "I do _not_ look like a fashion-challenged Dracula…" drifting from the doorway.

Yes. He would show up again tomorrow, if only to see the look on the human's face when he brought him a baggie of dry Count CocoFang cereal.

* * *

I wanted to thank you guys for all the response the first chapter got- I forgot to remind people to review and I got reviews anyway :D Made me super happy. Review this one too pwease, and since this is a collective of oneshots, feel free to even suggest ideas for future short stories. I'd love material to work with that I didn't think up for once, haha.

R & R my friends~


	3. Lonely (Gift for 10yrsy)

This little oneshot is a gift of sorts for an amazing artist on Deviant art, 10yrsy. Her characters are incredibly drawn and have great personalities and designs, and she has a comic she's almost done with called Tales of Doom. She also has another one she'll hopefully be picking up on more when she's done with it called Chemicals, which is an **awesome** AU comic. I never really cared for AU stories, but her concept is incredibly cool. This oneshot goes with her two pieces "Neighbors" and "Come in, I guess." Hope you like it, M! :3

* * *

"...What'cha doing?"

A hesitant voice broke the absolute silence that had settled over the two like a blanket, the nervous scuffing of a well-worn boot the only thing aside from breathing that disturbed the quiet. What had he been thinking, coming here? This was _Zim's_- not the home of some fluffy huggy bear that made sadness seep away.

But, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't desperate. Where else could he go, anyway? Not to his sister. Not to his friends.

…Right. He didn't have any of those.

When it finally came, the response was almost equally hesitant; slow. Guarded. Mildly curious.

"Planning stuff."

Interrupted in the middle of creating a piranha bomb for this? What was the Dib monkey playing at? There had to be a motive! Archrivals didn't simply stroll over to one another's houses and calmly inquire as to their pastimes!

"Oh... can I come in?"

Again the silence drifted past like a dense cloud. Zim's reluctance was evident- the squeak the material of his gloves made when he tightened a fist and the twitching antenna made that much clear. When the Irken slowly leaned in with a suspiciously scrutinizing gaze, Dib barely flinched. Instead of the expected defensive jump back and alien accusations hurled his way, Zim watched uneasily as Dib's amber eyes flickered up for a brief moment to lock with his red ones before just as quickly resettling on the sidewalk beneath his boots.

Something was wrong. The Dib creature was usually more… lively than this.

"Come in… I guess."

Dib gave more of a reaction to the consternated answer, head actually picking itself up from where it hung slightly between hunched shoulders. Come in? That had honestly been the last thing he'd expected to hear from his highly paranoid longtime nemesis. Would he be blown up the second he passed the threshold? Incinerated? Devoured by an experiment gone wrong? _Forced to eat questionable waffles by Gir?_

Screw it. He wasn't in the "giving a shit" sort of mood to bother thinking about it much anyway.

Passing by Zim was so uncomfortable it was almost tangible; clearly the alien was still uncertain about his given permission, and the half step he had taken back admitted Dib only a few small feet to slip past and into the house with.

And man was it weird being able to enter the main room without having to hide or run through it screaming while dodging laser blasts or Gir's "defensive mode" (which more often than not entailed rubber pigs launched at incredible and painful speeds.)

Dib was vaguely aware of Zim lurking in the corner behind him with an open curiosity the alien wasn't bothering to conceal. Knowing he should feel creeped out by the Irken's analytical stare, the teen was only able to muster up a vague feeling of discomfort as he felt Zim's eyes on him while he observed the room. Had that rubber squid always been on the bookshelf, or was it new? And what _was_ that glob stuck on the far wall…?

Eh. He'd probably be better off not knowing.

Finished with his halfhearted examination, Dib pointedly ignored Zim's unbroken gaze as he trudged to the ancient looking pink sofa. Despite its ruffled and slightly torn appearance, it looked clean enough and lacking in any recent Gir-related stains. Plunking down on it with a barely concealed sigh, Dib stretched his limbs out and picked at some fuzz poofing out from a small hole on the arm of the sofa. This poor couch looked so old and abused, but Dib had to remind himself it really hadn't been on Earth for all that long- it had simply seen an overabundance of Gir during its time here, resulting in its current sorry state.

The sharp clack of boots across the faux linoleum floor tore Dib's gaze from the fluff and to the Irken standing imperiously in front of the couch.

Dib gave a weak smile and guiltily removed his idly plucking fingers, having them instead make an indifferent waving gesture at Zim. "Thanks… don't mind me." He mumbled, hand falling to his lap to lace its fingers with his other one.

One of the alien's red eyes narrowed at the action in a more perturbed manner than out of anger. "… But you're sitting on my couch, Dib-thing." He stated, hands resting on his hips as he considered the positively off Dib before him.

One of the human's eyebrows lowered and he passed a hand through his hair out of habit. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I just… I dunno."

Zim's other maroon eye narrowed at the vague explanation, and he found himself lightly grinding his teeth. If the human had been planning anything he likely would have tried something by now- the fact that the Dib had returned to playing with the fluff spilling from his couch and having nothing in the semblance of a guard bothered him in a seldom felt area of his squeedilyspooch.

"You don't know what, Dib?" Zim pressed, antennae perking forward in interest. Was Dib sick? Dying? _Dead and back as a zombie?_

"I…" Dib opened his mouth to allow the words to spill out like they usually did, but syllables and sentence structures failed him after that first pronoun left his lips.

He what? He was tired? Sad? Angry? Lonely?

… All of those things?

"I… just don't know." He lamely finished after an impatient antenna twitch brought his dull eyes back to Zim.

Zim's face scrunched up in confusion. "How can you not know what you don't know?" He queried, bending over a little to better see Dib's expression.

An old spark of indignation darted behind Dib's eyes for a brief second, and the human fixed the Irken with a flat glare. "I don't know. I'm just not feeling that great today." He muttered, drawing his legs up onto the couch to rest his chin on, uncaring as to whether his boots got dirt on the sofa. Zim probably had some weird alien couch drive-thru cleaner in his basement or whatever anyway.

"Are you sick?"

The only thing that kept Dib from snapping at the Irken was the tone of voice the question was posed in. Rather than jeering or triumphant, it had around the same inflection as someone asking about the weather or the previous night's sports match.

That damn stinging behind his eyes.

"If only." Dib ground out, throat tightening against his will. He may not have had friends or respect, but he'd be dammed if he let even a single tear eke out while within five miles of his enemy.

Zim gave a noncommittal "hm." and stalked to the opposite end of the couch as the Dib monster. Sitting down as though on top of a landmine, he shifted uncomfortably as he watched the human's internal struggle. Personally, he hoped the Dib would swallow the urge to cry back down- and only because humans leaked horrible water when they cried. Not because it would have made Zim feel strangely guilty, or anything.

No. The mere idea was silly.

"If you were busy or whatever, you can go back to doing whatever weird thing it is you do all day in your lab." Dib offered once the prickling feeling had gone away and the tight knot in his throat had loosened.

Zim made no attempt to hide his open study of the Dib's person as he leaned closer with a curious expression. Was the human done fighting the weepies? "It was just a piranha bomb. Nothing incredibly doom-filled or anything." The casual admission slipped out before the alien could stop it, and Zim sucked in a breath at the accidental giveaway.

Dib cracked open an eye and cut Zim a sideways glance from his peripheral, and he had only a moment to notice Dib's vision was horribly off- centered somewhere near his forehead rather than his eyes- before a quiet scoff racked the teen's still curled in body.

"A piranha bomb, huh? Let me guess- you're trying to figure out why they keep flopping around uselessly on land?" Dib sarcastically asked, turning his head a fraction and readjusting his line of sight when he was able to see through his glasses again.

"Um… yes." Zim admitted after a moment of arguing with himself. "The stupid fish creatures are truly destructive and limb-rippy in your hideous water, but when Zim tries to incorporate them into an explodey device… they become significantly less limb-rippy."

The short peal of chuckling surprised the Irken out of the frustrated glare he was leveling at his ceiling of tubes and wires. Had that actually been a _laugh_ coming from the Dib? Looking back, Zim could only recall a brief few moments in the past where he'd heard the sound come from his rival.

Dib had uncurled and turned sideways during the laugh, dangling his legs over and off the arm of the couch as he laid back and allowed an arm to lazily hang off the edge. With the new view of Zim's intricate ceiling, at least he didn't have to keep staring into the empty blackness of the turned off television set or ridiculous pattern on the walls.

"That's because they're _fish_, you idiot. Fish can't live out of water- they need it to breathe." From his blurry peripherals Dib swore he saw Zim's antennae flatten- was it the idiot part or the water part that had gotten under his skin?

Zim pouted at the insult, but was distracted from a retort as Dib let out a few more short chuckles. What a vulnerable position the Dib had chosen to adopt; his squishy organ-y belly was completely exposed with the sloppy way he was sprawled across the couch. And in the process he had ended up a foot or so closer to Zim, but neither seemed to care as Dib's attention was on the ceiling and Zim's was on Dib.

"Unless you can somehow create air-breathing piranhas with legs to walk around with, I'd probably scrap the piranha bomb idea, Zim." Dib advised once he'd quieted down, a smirk still lightly stretched across his face.

Again Zim declined to respond with words, only letting out an angry hiss. Fine! He'd create a blue ring octopus bomb _instead_!

Dib's eyelids had fallen halfway listening to the alien's occasional angry hiss or teeth click, feeling slightly more secure in the knowledge that if Zim had wanted him vaporized or burnt or eaten or subjected to waffles by now, it would have already happened.

"What does this stupid thing even do? Can you shoot fireballs out of it? Poison? Plasma grenades?"

At the same time the question registered Dib felt a sharp tug on the scythe lock of hair lying limply on the couch cushion. Biting back an "ow", he glared up at the alien hovering over him messing with his hair.

"No. It doesn't really do anything- it's just my hair. Do your stupid antennae thingies shoot fireballs?"

And just as the question registered in the Irken's mind, a curious but not unduly rough tug on the antenna closest to Dib had him moving with the motion in an attempt to wriggle away.

"_No_! They do _not_!" Zim barked, taking Dib's hand between two claws and carefully prying it away. The last time his antennae had been touched was what felt like centuries ago- just a casual tap from Skoodge during one of their many mischievous outings during basic training. It was a symbol of partnership and familiarity, in a way- equivalent to a human handshake or pat on the back in meaning, perhaps. But not in feeling- antennae felt differently than a hand or back, after all.

And again the seldom heard laughter drew Zim's attention away from smoothing out his antennae and frowning.

"Geez, Zim- it's not like I ripped them out. And they're not hair- they aren't messed up in the slightest."

Where the Irken's eyebrows would be knitted together in irritation. "I think you should leave my base now, Dib. I've entertained you long enough." He growled commandingly, shoving at the human to stand up.

Taking the hint, Dib hauled himself up off the couch and let himself be pushed towards the door. "Alright, I suppose I'll spare you." He commented, grinning over his shoulder at the alien that only seemed to be angry- Dib knew better.

Once he was back on the stoop he had started on only fifteen or so minutes prior, Dib calmly regarded the alien that was still inspecting him from within the house as if he was a problem yet to be solved.

"Is the Dib thing feeling better?"

Dib blinked at the question, surprised for the second time that day. Giving the question a moment's consideration, he allowed the ghost of a smile to break through. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

This answer seemed to satisfy the Irken, but before the door could click shut it was stopped by a boot wedged between it and the doorframe.

Dib tilted his head and silently debated something with himself before giving up and deciding asking couldn't hurt. "Can I… I don't know, come back? Like, tomorrow or something, maybe? If you're not busy?"

A long moment passed where the only answer Dib got came in the form of glinting red eyes. At last, a quiet "Yes." came from the Irken within, and a similar shiny black boot kicked his out of the way, allowing the door to finally click shut.

Turning away from the odd green house and beginning the trip back home, Dib cast only one glance behind him in time to catch the fluttering of a curtain.

He _did_ feel loads better. As unexpected as it was, the trip to Zim's had been an odd form of companionship he'd sorely been missing for far too long.

And next time, he'd grab both antennae- you know, for science.

And of course, amusement.


	4. Shadows (Request for Kaze)

Ok, I've never done a songfic before. I offered a faithful reader (Kazehana23) a story request, and when the crossover they wanted couldn't work (I wasn't familiar with the series they wanted- sorry D:) they asked for a songfic. So I figured "Yeah, what the hell. I've never done one- it'll be an opportunity to practice." And they gave me an enormous list of songs to choose from xD I finally picked one I liked and felt I could work with, and thus this was born. I hope it flows somewhat smoothly- I tried to integrate the lyric meanings to the story, but man, its harder than it sounds. Hope you like it, Kaze :D Enjooooy~

*Also, if you don't like songfics, just skip the italicized centered chunks. It reads mostly like a regular story, otherwise.*

Pairing: Tak/Zim

Song: _Shadows_ by Red.

* * *

"Master? Do you want some cookies? I… I added asparagus this time! Your favorite!"

The shrill, hopeful question bounced off the despondently quiet walls of the house and easily reached the Irken curled on the faded couch in a mixture of anger, sadness, and betrayal.

_Sunset, I close my eyes_

_I pretend everything's alright._

_Drowning in anger from all these lies_

_I can't pretend everything's alright._

_Please don't let me fall forever_

_Can you tell me it's over?_

"No, Gir. I'm busy wallowing- leave me alone." The answer drifted from the Irken slowly, the only discernible inflection giving a distinct air of uncaring to the voice. Immediately an afterthought was added to the statement, mumbled and rambling. "And I hate asparagus. Stupid green Earth plant with its stupid tufty things at the top and stupid…uh…legs."

The android's hopeful grin wilted, and the glowing blue eyes sadly looked over the batch of questionable confections it held in its pincer hands. During their baking, it had vaguely occurred to him that asparagus was in fact _not_ an ingredient that generally went into cookies, but the dinging of the oven timer had swiftly distracted the robot- and so, in the vegetable went.

But at least his master's refusals were becoming slightly more normal. When he had gotten the call from the two big tall angry broccoli people a few weeks ago, his master had sagged like an old baloney and gone all quivery. However, Gir had scrambled away and hid the instant the Irken had gone rigid and begun screaming at the blank screen.

Old machine parts had been thrown, Pak leg lasers had scorched nearly every smooth surface, claw marks rent thinner metal plates asunder, and screams of rage and denial had filled the entire lower level for hours on end. An infiltrating Dib had crouched motionlessly in a storage closet for the duration, heart hammering in fear of being discovered as he listened to the Irken's part lament, part wrath.

Never before had he heard Zim sound so angry. Never before had he heard the "unfeeling" alien sound so torn, so broken, so _betrayed_.

"_They __**lied**__ to me! All this time! Lies, all of it!"_

The young paranormal investigator had hightailed it out of the base as soon as the opportunity presented itself; he hadn't stuck around for photos, videos, or to hook his laptop up with the main computer to steal Zim's files. He hadn't tried to confront the alien, nor spy on him- all that seemed to matter was escaping before his life was mercilessly ended by the brunt of Zim's anger. And escape he had, walking home at the blindingly fast speed of a snail. He had a lot to consider now, now that he could no longer mark Zim as either a threat or an emotionless drone of a hive-minded race.

But the Dib and his revelations were as far from the alien's battered mind as possible. The day after the first had been the worst, actually- because while the first day had been spent in a fit of senseless rage and destruction, the second had been spent jammed in a corner of his lab and thinking. Thinking, wondering, grieving. Time seemed to have stretched on endlessly. Only when his computer dared to hesitantly inform him that skool began in a few hours did the alien move, slowly scraping himself off the floor and dragging himself to the exit. Nearly leaving without his wig and contacts, the Irken was largely avoided at skool on account of his scarily deathlike appearance and sluggish persona.

Even Dib had left him be. Only once had the human approached him, and got only so far as opening his mouth and letting the alien's name eke out and trail off uncertainly, before reluctantly locking eyes with the ex-invader.

The look that passed between them was all they ever needed. It spoke volumes, and Dib let out a sigh before nodding slowly in return to Zim's gaze and plodding back to his lunch table with Gaz.

There had been centuries of depth in those eyes, visible in the shining red behind the false plastic lenses. The extent of the betrayal had compromised a large part of what made the alien who he was. Without anyone to work for, to live for, what did the alien have now?

_Life_. Scoffing inwardly at the irony of the world, Zim twirled the spoon stuck in the mashed potatoes he never ate. What was life without purpose? Why bother? Certainly there was no reason to end it- suicide was cowardly among the proud Irkens- but there was also no reason to continue it.

But perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could learn to _tolerate_ at best this place of banishment. The sky might be tinged with pollution, the humans may smell awfully, and the city may be crowded and unsanitary, but there were worse places. He could have been sent to planet Dirt, after all…

~..~..~..~..~

She had hated him. His voice, his face, his attitude, _everything_. She had hated him so much that even after several months of drifting through space until finally making it to a planet advanced enough to acquire a new ship at, the only thought branded into her mind was revenge. (…again.)

She hated him so much that even Mimi began to tread carefully around her when she was in one of her moods on the trip back to Earth. Flying into the occasional rage and stamping the few paces the small "borrowed" Hail Cruiser would allow, she took to furious muttering and cursing and plotting to fill the silent void. Swears and oaths in languages from across the universe were a near constant accompaniment to the humming and electrical buzzing of the ship's white noise workings.

The obedient SIR unit kept its distance despite knowing its master would never have such a leave of sense that she would attack her own assistant. Staying away simply seemed the polite thing to do- in the robot's smoothly functioning thought process, the more anger her master built up over the long trip back to Earth, the better.

Because after all, anger begot hate. And hate begot ideas. Those ideas begot plans, and those plans begot action.

And _oh_, such action she would have. Action that involved screaming, and ripping, and stabbing, and shooting, and maiming and killing and smashing and-

_In. Out. In. Out._

Breathing slowly, Tak harnessed every bit of resolve within her to resist punching the console. She would get him. She would finally get him, and when she did, he would wish he had never been hatched.

~..~..~..~..~

So… why had it ended up like this, pointing an Irken laser pistol at her enemy's head as he regarded her with a mixture of dolefulness and defiance? Part of him- the angry, screamy part- was silently demanding to know why she had the figurative balls to bash down his door undisguised in the middle of the afternoon, tear the head off his innocent robot (all he'd done was ask if the scary lady had wanted tomato flavored cookies), and stalk across the room to place him at gunpoint without hesitation.

This anger at her blatant intrusion was apparent in his sharp, narrowed eyes.

But when Tak snarled and ground the end of the gun farther against his forehead, she paused at the hidden complacency she discerned behind the characteristic anger. Zim was by no means a whimpering little smeet, but the look he shot her belied his chaotic and distressed state of mind.

It was a _dare_.

"_Go on, shoot me. I dare you. What have I to lose?"_

The challenge was so obvious it was as though Zim had spoken the words himself, rather than continued to silently glare at her from around the barrel of the pistol.

Tak's arm shuddered in uncertainty. Killing him here, now, like this… that wasn't a victory. It was no more a victory than a cruel earth child killing a passing cat with a bb gun. The gun shook against Zim's skin.

To kill, or not to kill?

Removing the pistol at last, Tak practically spat at the ex-invader in disgust. "I assume you've been told the truth, then?"

Zim's eyes flicked down to the gun still cocked and ready at her side, before resettling on her uniquely shaped purple eyes. "…Hmph." Was all he deigned to offer her, crossing his arms and looking past her at his decapitated robot.

Tak was clearly dissatisfied with this answer, and she poked the Irken's thin chest with her gun to get her point across. "Finally accepted that a defective has no place among us?" She taunted quietly, observing Zim's fists clench furiously.

"_Us_? You're no different than me! You escaped your banishment as well, failed in your initial plan to destroy me, and instead of running back to the Tallest with your tail between your legs, you return here yet again. I can't see how I'm the only one with the faulty Pak." Zim retorted instantly, knowing he'd hit a tender nerve when Tak's eyes widened a fraction.

Had she seriously not considered that her own behavior was treasonous? That now she too would be killed if she entered Irken airspace again?

For that comment Zim earned himself a thwack to the side of the head with the butt of the gun, and he winced and rubbed the spot as Tak fluctuated between looking bewildered and murderous.

"The Tallest… The Tallest will surely grant me amnesty if I bring them photos of your entrails decorating your own base!" She hastily reasoned, pushing Zim back against the couch with the laser gun grinding into his squeedilyspooch.

Zim spared the gun a flat glance, and again met her eyes. "You know they won't. Face it, Tak- I'm the only Irken you can ever hope to see for the rest of your life." Here Zim cracked a sardonic grin. "Might as well get used to me, unless you want to kill off the only other member of your race in this entire quadrant of space."

One crushing punch to the abdomen and howl of rage later, Zim watched from his place doubled over on the floor as Tak donned her holographic disguise and fled the base to allow her ire to run itself out in the nearby woods.

Picking himself up off the floor with a pained grunt, Zim dragged himself over to the two pieces of Gir. The body had already proceeded to run into the closest wall repeatedly in an effort to find the head, and Zim sighed and kicked it over so Gir could reattach it.

Well. That encounter had gone surprisingly smoothly.

~..~..~..~..~

At first, things were so tense between the two aliens that sparks almost literally ignited the air between them. Forced social situations in skool gave the two ample opportunity to throw venomous glares one another's way, and rarely a day passed that Dib didn't chuckle to himself at Zim's new thorn in the side.

But between the curses and glowers, it didn't escape Dib that despite his now occasional civil interaction with the male Irken- not friendly, but it was better than nothing- the two often looked so horribly lonely. If they would swallow their bloody pride for even a single day, perhaps they could manage to get along enough to…what? What would two exiled Irkens even talk about? Training? Irk? Snacks?

Either way, that sort of disconnection with one's own species was a planet-sized hole Dib couldn't foresee Zim filling on his own, nor with his own sparse help. Watching the two on opposite ends of the cafeteria pick at their respective foods, Dib couldn't help but run a hand through his hair at the grim despair settled across both countenances.

Moron aliens. One of them would have to break eventually; they couldn't keep living in the darkness forever, after all.

~..~..~..~..~

_There's a hate inside of me like some kind of master_

_I tried to save you, but I can't find the answer_

_I'm holding onto you, I'll never let go_

_I need you with me as I enter the shadows_

"I really, _really_ hate you."

"Mmh. Good morning to you too, Tak." Zim groused as he reluctantly scooted over to make room for her on the bus. It appeared as though nobody was absent today, and the few other seats she could have occupied were rudely filled by bags or legs. Filthy humans, taking up entire bus seats for themselves and forcing _her_ to sit _here_…

"Since when do you ride the bus?"

Zim gave up trying to ignore the female Irken (she _was_ only a few inches away) and slid his false lavender irises over to her. "Since I deemed it better than walking to skool in the cold. The heater is broken anyway, but it's not as windy."

The shiver that passed through her frame caught his eye, and he fought to keep the smirk off his face and out of his voice. "You weren't aware of the cold front coming in today, I assume?"

Tak rolled her eyes, making an obvious effort to avoid shivering. It was entirely likely she wasn't even aware Earth could get much colder than this- the last time she'd been here had been in the middle of summer time.

"So, how's Mimi? Last I remember, she had a…uh… problem." Zim tried sheepishly, all the while asking himself why he was even bothering to make conversation with _Tak_ of all people.

This got him an irritated glare, and Tak ran her hands up and down her arms in an effort to generate warmth briefly before answering. "That _problem_ was caused by _your_ dysfunctional robot. But she's fine now, _thank you_."

The words were hissed contemptuously, and Zim let out a puff of air and leaned back against the seat and window. She needed to get over the past already- was hating him this much really worth all the effort? They were stuck on this rock together; why couldn't they make the most of it and be civil, like he and the Dib slime were becoming? Granted, he hadn't completely destroyed Dib's life twice in a row… but still!

Speaking of destroyed lives, Zim's expression soured as he remembered his morning. He had come across one of his old plans for taking over the Earth while rooting around in a closet in the house level of his base, and reading it over had made him realize both how ridiculously impossible it would have been to pull off, and how empty he still felt with no real purpose.

Was he always going to feel this crappy about his lot in life? Irkens lived a _long_ time. Maybe he should just toss his Pak in the trash and expire, honor be dammed. It's not like any Irkens other than Tak would know anyway.

"Somebody looks brooding and morbid." Tak commented from his right, peering over at him with mild interest.

"No! Just… eh… thinking about Irk is all." Zim immediately lied, holding Tak's piercing gaze steadily.

"Irk, huh…" She finally trailed off, and broke the stare to look out the window at the scenery scrolling by instead.

"Y-yeah." Zim affirmed, fidgeting with his gloves. "Just, you know, remembering the Great Snack Hall. Oh, and the Neverending Popcorn Bowl Café."

Tak was silent for a while, and just as Zim decided he wasn't going to receive a reply, her voice drifted over in a low tone. "Heh. And Schloogorgh's wasn't too far, huh Zim?"

"Not funny." He grumbled, crossing his arms with a huff. "Although, if memory serves, Dirt wasn't all that far from Irk either."

Tak scowled, gritting her teeth. Bug eyed, stupid little…

At least the bus had finally arrived at the skool. As students began filing off and pushing for a space in line, Tak neatly slid in between two people and left Zim to fend for himself among the rest of the throng of smelly grease children. Shoving his way between Morla and M, the Irken stepped off the bus and noticed Tak sitting on one of the faded green benches to wait until the bell rang to allow the children inside.

He also noted that she still let a shiver slip through her stoic exterior now and again, and Zim debated heavily with himself before swearing and stomping over to her.

Before Tak could protest Zim coming within five feet of her willingly, a red jacket had been unceremoniously dumped on her head. Angrily tugging it off, she glared at Zim's back as he about-faced and began to march off pointedly.

Only a short sentence was tossed over his shoulder at her: "Don't lose that. Gir ate my last one, so that's all I've got."

Watching the Irken trudge up to Dib on the opposite side of the courtyard and strike up an awkward conversation with the sort-of-but-not-really friend, Tak turned her eyes down to the fabric. It was clearly of human make, but it was an expensive purchase- far be it from the almighty Zim to buy cheaply- and still held the lingering warmth from the last body that had worn it. Biting her lip, Tak caught Zim's eye from across the large space and was clearly able to see the stutter in his conversation as he looked anywhere but at her, instead turning away just as she caught the darker green color dusting his face.

It had been an unexpectedly nice gesture, and Tak slowly pulled the jacket around her. The fabric kept out the chill and the previous ambient heat warmed her up, and she half smiled as her previously terrible mood evaporated. Perhaps, if given enough time, they could both come around. With their worlds destroyed and fallen apart around them, they could both use someone to lean on. Letting go of her hate wouldn't be easy, but so long as Zim didn't blow up her SIR unit or make any more rude remarks about her time on Dirt, they just might be able to brave the shadows together.

~..~..~..~..~

_Caught in the darkness, I go blind_

_But can you help me find my way out?_

_Nobody hears me, I suffer the silence_

_Can you tell me it's over now?_

It had been months. Several rough, bitter months. But steadily the ice began to thaw, and conversation came more easily. Reminiscing about the past and their respective failures no longer had the mocking sting it once did, and being within a few feet of one another ceased to make the two want to puke out the contents of their squeedilyspooches. Punches went from angry to playful, and laughs ceased being spiteful and taunting.

Afternoons were occasionally spent at each other's houses, either helping Tak to expand her underground base or developing various (and sometimes stupid) weapons at Zim's. It was during one such time-killing endeavor that Tak happened to snag Gir as he was walking by with Mimi and idly unscrewed his head on the workbench while swatting at him to keep still. She had honestly always wondered what made the little android tick- or rather, tick very improperly- and decided a quick peek at his internal workings wouldn't do much harm.

"Disassembling my robot? I'm sure whatever he tried to bake for you wasn't all _that_ bad."

Zim's curious voice from over her shoulder made Tak jump, and she let out a relieved breath- luckily enough, he didn't seem angry at all for her uninvited inspection of his faulty minion. So, proceeding to unscrew the robot's head as he sucked contentedly on one of his pincer hands, Tak began to feel around inside as she explained herself.

"No, no. I could have put him through a wall yesterday- he tried to get me to eat broccoli flavored pudding- but he hasn't done anything today. I'm just curious…" Her sentence was left hanging as she frowned and gave the robot her full attention. Why was his head empty?

Squinting into the hollow head, Tak furrowed her brow as she dug out a few items that clinked and clicked against each other in her claws. Wordlessly presenting them to Zim as Gir silently switched off behind them, Zim's mouth hung slightly open as he accepted the items from her.

What… what was all this… this _junk_!? A screw? A paperclip? Coins?

"This is _garbage_!" Zim snarled, clenching a fist around the useless objects and tossing them back in Gir's head. As the android merrily powered back up and skipped off to find Mimi again, Zim stalked out of the workroom and made a beeline for the lab he had personally trashed not so long ago. "They told me it was "advanced"! I should have known they had some reason for digging through the trash can before giving me Gir!" Zim ranted furiously, pacing among the wreckage of the room.

Tak slowly followed, and her purple eyes widened at the sight of the main computer room. Repairing it had not been essential- Computer could be operated via voice or through other smaller terminals- but it had no doubt once been an impressive sight. Dust and claw marks marred nearly every surface now, and a grating noise indicated a few more scratches in the metal had just been added. Tracking Zim as he stiffly walked back and forth across the room angrily grinding his jaw and keeping his antennae pinned back, Tak sadly watched him take out his frustrations on the surrounding machinery. Having had a fit of rage of her own but a few days ago, the female Irken could relate.

Despite having each other and their memories, being banished from everything you knew and loved was still a hard thing to accept and sometimes those tensions bubbled to the surface. And when they did, there was no stopping them; one could only weather the storm.

After a few more minutes of yelling and thrashing, Zim calmed down enough to lean against a destroyed console and rub the space between his eyes in aggravation. That habit was, Tak off-handedly noticed, adopted from Dib. However, lacking a nose and therefore a nose bridge to rub, the alien soon took to massaging his temples instead.

Deeming it safe to approach, Tak leaned her weight against the same console as Zim and crossed her arms, allowing the barest brush of shoulders.

"You know… for what it's worth, I like Gir."

Zim gave a combination snort and laugh, letting out a pent up breath and craning his neck to observe the ceiling. (The only surface in the entire room that remained smooth and unmarred.)

"Yeah. I like him too. When he's _not_ trying to feed me his disgusting culinary creations."

This elicited an unexpected laugh from Tak. The seldom heard sound filled the demolished computer room and made the shadows seem to seep away from the corners, and Zim's gaze immediately switched from the boring and plain ceiling to Tak's far more interesting and (he'd be lying if he didn't admit it) elegantly shaped face. The last time he'd succeeded in making her laugh had been two weeks ago when he'd made the mistake of leaving the Kerplar Drill running unattended, and returned to find the tool thrashing around the workroom like an incensed snake. He had been forced to idiotically dance his way around it to avoid being skewered and punched full of tiny painful holes, and his screams and frantic attempts to grasp the handle of the corded drill without losing a finger had gotten Tak to crack up as she observed the battle from the doorway.

She had captured his attention then, and just the same as before, he found himself unable to take his eyes off her now. Only when laughing did she seem so relaxed, so… at peace. Would she tolerate it if he…?

Tak's laugh cut short when she felt Zim's claws gently wind through her own, and her Pak supplied the memory of the two removing their gloves earlier to do delicate circuitry work before she had snagged Gir.

Clearly they had never thought to put them back on, and the skin on skin sensation was unnerving. Not unsettling, as she felt it should have been, but still a foreign experience nonetheless.

What did one even do in this situation? Tak wasn't a fool, but she also wasn't in familiar territory. However, as one of Zim's claws carefully ran over the back of her thumb, an unbidden gut feeling told her to return the grip and she did so hesitantly.

The small reaction did not go unnoticed by Zim, who couldn't stop a hint of a smile from passing over his face. He'd expected to at least get shooed away; this was quite the pleasant surprise.

The two remained with hands interlocked and sides lightly pressing for a few minutes, letting the silence drift by. On Zim's end, a battle was raging. Why Tak? Sure, they'd been getting along very well the past few months and had reconciled with each other (sort of- if being beaten in an arm wrestling match counted as being forgiven), but she was so often cold and aloof. If he pushed his luck, would she let him in? Or shove him away due to her instincts of self-preservation?

And on Tak's end, a similar battle was being fought. Irkens didn't _need_ each other. They were a solitary species, relying only on destruction and war to get by. So why did the feel of another hand in hers seem so right instead of feeling like an abomination? Granted, the rare relationship between Irkens did occur once in a blue moon, but they were still discouraged. A distracted soldier was a burden; partnerships were often broken up by assignings, missions, or deaths.

And yet… there was nothing to bother them here. Lightyears away from Irk, forgotten and ignored by the empire… who or what was there to possibly interfere with them now?

They had been pondering far too long. Zim swiftly came to the conclusion that he would eventually need to move; but that didn't mean he needed to move _away_.

_There's a hate inside of me like some kind of master_

_I tried to save you, but I can't find the answer._

_I'm holding onto you, I'll never let go_

_I need you with me as I enter the shadows._

A muffled rustle of fabric later and Zim was holding his breath in anticipation and bracing for retaliation. His move had been bold- would he lose one arm for this, or both?

_I'm holding onto you_

But for now, he would enjoy it. Resting his forehead against her shoulder as his claws rested on her hips, he breathed in the scent he had unknowingly come to recognize as Tak.

_I'm holding onto you_

Bodies politely not touching- he would have been killed on the spot if he had dared- Zim still felt that inch of space between them like a canyon.

Mmn. Well. He'd be getting pummeled shortly, so there was no point in crying over spilled milk.

_There's a hate inside of me like some kind of master_

But the pummeling never came. Instead, the tense set of Tak's shoulders loosened bit by bit. Her arms still hung at her sides uselessly, but the occasional finger twitch betrayed the desire to do something- anything- with them rather than let them hang idly. Shouldn't she have gouged out his eyes by now? Wasn't she supposed to despise this Irken? Wasn't she supposed to hate his very existence? Working together had initially only been for the purpose of analyzing each other's Paks in an attempt to fix whatever defect caused them to be so radically different from the rest of their race.

_I tried to save you, but I can't find the answer_

When had it turned into this? What _was_ "this"? Zim seemed to have a fair idea of what he wanted "this" to be. And, for once in his failure-filled life, was he right about something?

At that point, with the air thick between them, all Tak could coherently think was _whatever_. If the Tallest wanted them banished, so be it. Because the threat of their rage at two miniscule, defective "invaders" seemed so pale and fake in comparison to the warmth just centimeters away.

Stepping forward, Tak's arms awkwardly pulled Zim closer. Hiding her smirk in the crook of his neck when she heard the smothered _"eep"_ at what he likely assumed was a murder attempt, she let out a breath that she felt she'd been holding since she first landed here. Zim was nice to hold- certainly far better than nothing. She could easily see herself making a habit of it.

Because, when the world consisted of only them, their shadows melted away.

_I'm holding onto you, I'll never let go_

_I need you with me as I enter the shadows._

* * *

Yaaaaay. So yeah, I hope I did okay. C: And I hope you liked it, Kaze! :D Reviews would mucho appreciated- I'm curious as to what people think of my songfic-writing ability, haha. (Or if I should just stick to regular stories, let me know xD ) Oh, and let it be known that I _do_ usually take requests. If you've had a plotbunny or particular story you've been itching to see written or something, just shoot me a PM or mention it in a review. I'll more than likely go with it, and if I do, it'll probably end up as a chapter in this collective. Requests would help give me more material to put here, actually. So don't be shy c:

~.~.~

(Vampsmoonangel, I saw your review. Never fear. More antenna-centric stuff will probably (soon) be here xD But just for clarification, was there a particular pairing you had in mind? Feel free to PM me or answer in a review, either works since I always read both.)


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